Chapter Two

Perfectly Normal

Harry went inside the red brick building and took the iron cage elevator to the top floor. He heard the melody coming from the door at the end of the dimly lit hallway. The boy straightened his clothes and hair, though he didn't know why. He knocked. The melody stopped, followed by complete silence. Harry's heartbeat became suffocatingly fast. Then he heard reluctant footsteps coming towards the door. The boy took a deep breath and waited nervously with his hands fidgeting behind his back. He heard the doorknob turn, and the door slowly opened with a creak. A middle aged man with black, greasy hair down to his chin leaned against the doorway. His skin was sickly pale, and he his lips were in a curled frown.

"I'm sorry, you must've knocked on the wrong door." He said in a low drawl then stepped back to close the door. The boy stuck his foot at the doorway before the man had a chance to shut off his visitor.

"Wait! I came here to see you... because I heard piano playing coming from your floor."

"What..." The man raised an eyebrow.

"Nevermind, am I bothering you?"

"No... not really."

"Well then I was wondering... if I can come in? It's awfully cold and I would really like hear some more." Harry rubbed his hands together and looked at the man. The man looked back at him with a shocked face. Then he swung his arms loosely in front of the boy.

"Are... you okay?" Harry asked while slowly backing away.

"Nothing, just making sure you're not a ghost, or a figment of my mind..." The man seemed lost in his thoughts.

"Oh, that you don't have to worry mister... I'm alive, just very cold, and kind of lost."

"You're not a mugger, are you?" There was a light frown on his face, but he seemed to have meant it as he withdrew slightly behind the door.

"No sir, I heard your piano playing, that's why I came up here to see where it was from. Then I realized that it was rather late, and that I don't want to go back to my apartment tonight. Plus if I did, I wouldn't be able to find my way. So I thought, being a stranger to this big city, what would I have to lose next to my life, to knock on your door? Now can I come in?"

"I-I don't get very many visitors, and my apartment, it's very empty... however completely confounded I am by your rude actions, you may come in..." He sounded a little tense. Then he spoke again. "That piece I played, before you cut me off, was December by Tchaikovsky." The man's words were more relaxed when he mentioned the music that drew the boy in.

Harry just looked at him with disbelief and laughed.

"Okay mister... okay."

The man gestured for Harry to come in as his other hand wiped his face. Harry walked into a large and empty room. To the right, was the piano. Beyond the piano was the window, with the blue of the evening sky scattering in. To the left, was a small kitchen space. The floors were grey and wooden. Harry looked around and didn't forget to comment.

"You're right, it is empty, hah... now if you don't mind playing, I would like to listen to some more." Harry sat down against the window with his chin resting on his arm. The man walked to the piano and started playing with audacity.

He didn't seem to mind the complete stranger sitting there watching him play. The unexpected guest just listened. The man felt awkward but not bothered by this little stranger. Every thing seemed perfectly normal. Besides the fact that he had never seen him before, and he basically broke into his living space, it was perfectly normal.

Harry Potter did not question his own actions. He did not question this awkward encounter, and he did not wonder about the man's being. But he knew there would never be another night quite like this.

When the man got to the finale of the piece, he seemed to have ignored him completely as he wore a dreamy expression on his face. His hair was in his face as he finished the song with a triumphant delivery. The notes echoed in the empty room and Harry applauded. The man looked startled. He seemed to have forgotten letting the boy inside. Harry cocked his head.

"What was that one called?"

"I-it's called 'Heroic', Chopin's polonaise. Ugh... why am I stammering? I apologize, I truly am not used to visitors." He sighed and leaned his elbows on the piano keys, making a clashing sound.

"I'm glad to be one of your few visitors. Now tell me, what is your name?" Harry's nose was pink from the cold winter air that seeped through the shut windows.

"My name is Severus Snape." The man brushed the hair out of his face.

"I'm Harold Potter, but I only answer when people say Harry."

"I didn't ask for your name."

"Right, it's only proper I respond so that you didn't have to ask." Harry didn't seem to mind the blunt, almost rude comment. The man's natural frown twisted into a small smile.

"Where are you from Harold? And what brings you here?"

"It's Harry."

"Sorry." Severus gestured for Harry to continue.

"I came from London a month ago, got a cruddy job at a donut shop, got fired from the cruddy donut shop today, then walked around in an awful mood. But I heard you play a little song while I was walking, and it was wonderful! With the atmosphere and all! Haven't you ever been in the snow with music playing and feel that way? No wait, then you can't hear yourself play... But the thing is, I was having a bad day but yeah, ya know, you made getting fired somewhat nice." Snape stared at the boy as he finished his words in more or less a single breath.

"I am glad you liked it. No one has listened to me play in a long time. Perhaps no one listened for longer than I remember." Then he smiled bitterly.

"So that December piece, by Tchau... what was it?"

"Tchaikovsky."

"Right... play that one again will you?"